Etiquette for Bedtime Invasions
by Ell Roche
Summary: Echizen Ryoma refused to share a room with a gossipy girl for weeks of training camp. So she shared a room with Akutagawa Jiro, instead.


**Title:** Etiquette for Bedtime Invasions

**Pairing:** Akutagawa Jiro/Echizen Ryoma

* * *

Echizen Ryoma gazed out the window of her classroom. The sakura trees wouldn't blossom again until next year. Her eyes ached, and she rubbed them. When she had looked in the mirror earlier in the morning, Ryoma had been tempted to ask Nanako if she could borrow some of her makeup. In general, Ryoma despised makeup. But she was worried that her teachers were going to start suspecting her family of abusing her.

The bags under her eyes resembled bruises: black and blue and spreading.

She clenched her skirt in her fists, hating her weakness. How had she come to depend on someone else so completely? Ryoma was very independent. She didn't need other people. She had never needed other people. Most of the time she couldn't even be bothered to remember their names. It had taken her all of middle school to memorize the tennis coach's granddaughter's name was Sakuno. They must've been introduced over a thousand times, but it kept slipping her mind.

Now, though, sleep fought her at every turn. She was too hot. Then she was too cold. The bed was too big. The bed was too small. The room was too light; the room was too dark. The sound of his breathing was missing, even though she had constantly complained it was too loud. Ryoma didn't have enough blankets. She missed the arm around her waist, and the chest against her back. She missed the way he snuffled against her neck and the way her braid ended up trapped beneath him.

"Akutagawa Jiro."

The whisper that fell from her lips was too soft to reach anyone else. She was grateful for that. The last thing she needed was for insane rumors to spread like wildfire; she seemed to be a popular topic of rumormongering, much to her annoyance. Didn't her classmates and teammates have anything better about which to gossip?

The joint Hyotei, Seigaku, and Rikkaidai training camp had lasted almost the entire summer vacation. Atobe Keigo had been kind enough to host it at one of his cottages, and invited both the male and female regulars of all three clubs. With a total of forty-two players, twenty-one of each gender, there had been an extra boy and girl for room assignments.

Ryoma dreaded the thought of sharing a room with another girl, which was a direct contrast to how all the other girls had surely felt. However, Ryoma did not want someone to badger her all summer about making sure she looked her best around all the guys. And she most definitely didn't want to room with someone who would try to keep her up all night giggling about how handsome the guys were, and who was romantically available.

She would have faked a serious injury and gone home if that was her only option.

Instead, Ryoma stalked up to Atobe and said, "I'll share with Sleeping Beauty." She pointed to the napping blond-haired boy on the couch. He wore a Hyotei regular's jersey, and she seemed to remember him pummeling Fuji's younger brother at some point or other.

"What?" Momoshiro Takashi yelled.

"Eh? Are you sure, Echizen?" Atobe inquired, appearing uncharacteristically serious.

"Very. He'll be too tired to try anything," she said. Not that she thought he would anyway. All of the guys from Hyotei were trustworthy to a rare extent, and Atobe wouldn't invite men over if he thought they would harm women. Atobe was a gentleman in more than name; it was one of his few endearing qualities.

"Akutagawa Jiro," the blond boy said. His eyes were open to slits, revealing warm, brown irises. "Roommates should know each other's names, Echizen."

Fuji chuckled. "Don't bother, Akutagawa. She's not going to remember it." He wasn't often wrong; Fuji had been wrong about that.

The third day of training camp, she returned to their room dead on her feet. She was literally swaying with exhaustion. Ryoma held onto the walls as she walked, and almost passed out when she opened the door to their bedroom. Kicking off her shoes took much too long when a bed was so close. Then, finally, she collapsed onto the covers and fell instantly asleep.

It wasn't until her eyes fluttered open the next day that she realized she had tumbled onto her roommate's bed. His arm was around her waist, and it was a surprisingly comforting weight.

Ryoma rolled over in his grasp and stared at his face. Who was this guy, that she could sleep in his bed? That she would subconsciously trust him when she was too tired to protect herself? Why him?

She wasn't an idiot. She knew that there was something special about him. There must be, because she wouldn't have fallen asleep in Momo's bed, or Tezuka's, or Atobe's, or anyone else's. She didn't doubt that they wouldn't harm her, but some subliminal motivation would have forced her the twelve extra steps across the room to her own bed.

Yet, she had been content to crash on Jiro's bed—while he was in it. He must have already been in it, right? He would've slept in her empty bed if he came in after her, wouldn't he?

Jiro yawned, grumbled, and rubbed his eyes with the hand that wasn't curled around her. After blinking twice, he smiled at her. "Morning, Ryoma."

He had used her first name without permission, and she didn't have the urge to correct him. She was accustomed to people using her first name in America, but she hadn't given anyone permission to use it here in Japan. Jiro had apparently given himself the okay, and she didn't object. She liked how he said her name: warm and comfortable.

"Morning, Jiro."

"Breakfast?" he asked, before rubbing his eyes again.

Ryoma's stomach rumbled. Had she eaten after lunch yesterday? She couldn't remember. "Breakfast," she agreed before sliding out of bed. When his hand fell on the sheets behind her, she told herself it was ridiculous to miss the warmth; the room wasn't cold.

If he wasn't going to mention her sleeping in his bed, then she wouldn't either. The teasing that would result would inspire homicidal tendencies that would make Devil Akaya seem like a teddy bear in comparison.

It wasn't likely to happen again.

Ryoma was proved wrong two days later.

The sound of quiet whimpering woke Ryoma in the middle of the night. She had no idea how she was able to hear it over the sound of the enormous thunderstorm happening outside. The windows lit up with flashes of lightning every few seconds, throwing shadows across the floor and walls in menacing shapes. Ryoma rolled over and glanced at Jiro's bed. He was huddled beneath the covers, not even his hair visible, the whole mound of blankets shivering around him.

If it had been anyone else, Ryoma would have closed her eyes, rolled back over, and pretended she hadn't seen anything. But it wasn't anyone else; it was Jiro. The innocent, sweet, non-perverted male whose brown eyes tugged at something inside her chest. The boy who had a family so loving that Atobe spoke of them with jealousy in his voice—who surely wouldn't have been alone during a thunderstorm if he were at home.

With a heavy sigh, Ryoma threw back her covers and walked across the room. She wrestled with Jiro for control of his blankets and then dove under them.

"R-Ryoma?"

Ryoma tried to smile comfortingly, but she didn't know how well it turned out. She didn't have much occasion to do so in everyday life. People never came to her for comfort, and she was okay with that. Now, though, it left her feeling lacking.

"I'm scared of thunderstorms, Jiro. Can I sleep with you?"

Jiro stilled, but he didn't call her on her obvious lie. She wasn't shaking or flinching with each clap of thunder. "Sure, Ryoma," whispered Jiro. He let go of his knees and stretched out his legs; they would probably cramp in the morning. "I'll protect you."

She stared into his nervous brown eyes. "Thank you."

He put a hand on Ryoma's waist and tugged. Obligingly, Ryoma moved toward him. Once Ryoma's back met Jiro's chest, he wrapped his arm around her waist and slid his hand between her shirt and the mattress. His legs twined with hers, and he burrowed his nose into the base of her neck. "No, thank you," he breathed.

Jiro fell asleep within ten minutes.

Ryoma was awake much longer. Sincere gratitude wasn't often part of her life, and his words stunned her. Eventually, the warmth of his body and the feel of his breath brushing against her neck lulled her off to sleep.

Surely, that would be the end of it.

The very next night, lightning lit up the bathroom as Ryoma finished her shower. She groaned, before grabbing the towel to dry her hair. Every night she spent in Jiro's bed was another chance for someone to walk in and reach a perverted conclusion. But she wouldn't be able to sleep if she knew he was terrified and alone less than ten feet away from her. Ryoma might be indifferent, for the most part, but she wasn't inherently cruel.

After dressing, Ryoma grabbed her hairbrush. She left the adjoining bathroom and entered their bedroom. Jiro was pressed against the headboard, smashing the pillows against it, his hands covering his face. He was like a little kid hiding from a monster under the bed.

Her chest ached.

"Do you know how to braid?" Ryoma asked.

Jiro jumped and dropped his hands. "W-what?"

"Do you know how to braid?" She held up her hairbrush, as he stared at her with confusion. Ryoma wouldn't sleep unless her hair was braided, because it would turn into a tangled mess overnight, and she didn't want to waste time fixing it in the morning; it took forever. If Jiro knew how to braid, it would distract him from the storm. Plus, someone else would be able to braid her hair much faster than she could. The angle was awkward at times, given the length of her hair, and her arms got tired.

"Yes. I do my sister's hair every night."

Ryoma smirked. She would get something out of this, after all. People in general liked routine, and Jiro seemed to like it even more so. "Good." She stalked across the room, sat on the floor, and then held the brush in the air.

Jiro was gentle, never getting the brush tangled or caught. He never pulled or tugged either. His fingers were deft. To her surprise, he didn't do a generic braid; he French-braided her hair. He did it in record time, too. Just a few minutes later, her hairbrush was on his nightstand and he was attaching the hair-tie she had just given him. "All done."

"Thank you." Ryoma stood and stretched, her back popping as she did so.

"You're welcome."

Ryoma poked his shoulder. "Now scoot over, Jiro. It's bedtime."

He smiled at her, then: a beautiful, tremulous smile. "Right. Bedtime." Jiro moved over and lifted the blankets, only releasing them when she was beside him. "I'll protect you from the thunderstorm, Ryoma."

She entwined her left fingers with his and curled his arm around her. "I know." He was warm and solid at her back. Jiro didn't flinch no matter how loud the thunder got—even when it shook the walls. His breathing evened out.

Victory was hers.

For the next five nights, there were storms. For the next five nights, Ryoma let Jiro protect her from the thunder and lightning. Then the storms went away; Ryoma had no reason to sleep in Jiro's bed.

The pain had started during an afternoon match, catching Ryoma off-guard. It was a cramping in her lower back. She gritted her teeth and battled through it. It would be debilitating soon enough, keeping her from playing for days; she would enjoy herself while she could. Unfortunately, instead of a slow build-up it seemed to multiply faster than ever.

Ryoma was almost in tears by the time she won her match. Her pride was all that kept her from fleeing to her bedroom. She managed to keep it together long enough to shake her opponent's hand before leaving.

"One more step."

The mantra was what kept her from collapsing on the stairs. Why did her bedroom have to be on the fourth floor of Atobe's cottage? Why? She could have called one of his servants to carry her up them, but that would be humiliating beyond measure. What would she say? _Sorry, but I'm getting my period and the cramps are vicious. I feel like my muscles are being shredded by a tiger. Can you carry me up the stairs so I can curl up in bed and try not to vomit?_

Her period was irregular. She had gone seven months without getting it before. With how hard she exercised and practiced, its appearance was rare. It liked to make up for its absence by shooting agonizing pain through her body for days on end.

"One more step."

Ryoma yelped, though she would deny it, when she was suddenly swept off her feet. Her hands latched onto strong shoulders. "Jiro?" She flinched and bit her lip.

"How bad is it?"

She wasn't sure what was more embarrassing: being carried upstairs by Jiro, or having him know that she was on her period. "Bad." She had never seen a point to lying. It just bred mistrust.

"I thought so. Your skin got so pale when you returned that last smash that I thought you were going to pass out."

Ryoma groaned and hung her head. Thankfully, her match had been on the court farthest away from the others. And her opponent was a new regular on the women's team at Hyotei, so she wasn't popular yet. Jiro had been their only spectator. She wasn't surprised, though, since Yukimura Seiichi and Sanada Genichiro had been playing doubles against Atobe Keigo and Tezuka Kunimitsu. She had planned to slaughter her opponent and go watch the match, but that wasn't going to happen now.

He walked into their bedroom and stopped once he crossed the threshold. "Uh, do you need me to take you to the bathroom?" His cheeks were as red as Kikumaru Eiji's hair, and she could only imagine that hers were worse.

"No."

"Okay."

Jiro walked to the nearest bed, which was his, and held her with one arm while he pulled back the covers. She was grateful that she had been coherent enough to leave her shoes at the front door this time; she was still frustrated that she had forgotten the first night she crashed in Jiro's bed. You would think that after living in Japan so long she wouldn't forget something so simple. Jiro set her down on the soft mattress, and then joined her on the bed.

"What . . . ?" Ryoma was so stunned that she didn't even know what to say. Why would he want to be this close to her when she was—? It made no sense!

"Trust me. This'll help." Jiro scooted forward until his front was against hers. The heat from his body seeped into hers, easing the cramps the slightest bit. She fisted her hands in his jersey; anything that lessened the pain was to be coveted. He rubbed soothing circles on her lower back.

Ryoma moaned. "You're a genius."

Jiro chuckled. "Thank you."

"More talented than Fuji," she babbled, eyelids drooping. His hands were helping so much. Pain relievers and heating pads had never accomplished what he was doing.

"Oh?" His fingers stopped.

Why had he stopped? She hadn't told him to stop! Ryoma focused long enough to glare at him. "You still have lots more to work on."

Laughing, Jiro resumed his ministrations. "All right, Ryoma. As you wish."

Ryoma tucked her head under his chin and slept.

Her period lasted ten days; ten! Ryoma couldn't find it in herself to complain too bitterly, though, because Jiro was attentive to her every need. He rubbed her back, kept the others from harassing her, and made sure the maids brought her food that wouldn't make her sick. She had a lot of rice and soup. Oh, and crackers. For the record, not all the crumbs in the sheets were her fault. Jiro was partially responsible as well.

By the time her period was gone, she was accustomed to sleeping in Jiro's bed.

She tried to sleep by herself the first night it was gone. She tossed and turned; Jiro tossed and turned. Ryoma could hear him. She fluffed her pillows, adjusted the blankets, counted sheep, imagined how boring playing only Horio would be for the rest of her life, and nothing could make her fall asleep. Ryoma could feel Jiro's eyes boring into the back of her head. She wished that he would say it, that he would ask to join her or ask her to join him. But she knew he wouldn't. Jiro was a gentleman, and he would never invite himself into her bed.

It was her choice.

When the bright green numbers on the alarm clock red 1:43 a.m., Ryoma cursed and gave up her pride. She threw her blankets back, kicked them off the end of the bed, grabbed her pillows, and stomped across to Jiro's bed.

Smirking, Jiro lifted his covers. He pushed his pillows to the side and settled hers next to his. The yawn that split his face as she snuggled against his side was enormous. She was in his arms for what seemed like a moment, and then dreams of winning Wimbledon subsumed her.

After that night, she didn't use her bed at all.

But the camp had ended five days ago; Ryoma had been home for five days, and she hadn't slept for more than three or so hours in that entire time. The reflection in the classroom window was frightening. The bags that resembled bruises worried her, because she knew they weren't going to vanish on their own. She had become entirely dependent on Jiro for sleep; without him curled around her, their legs and fingers tangled, his breath brushing her neck, and his warmth—sleep didn't come.

And, like always, it was her choice: she would have to go to him.

Mind made up, Ryoma slammed her hands against her desk and stood up. Her chair screeched across the floor. She shoved the stuff on her desk into her bag and put it on her shoulder.

"Echizen?"

"I'm leaving," she told the teacher. She didn't care if she had interrupted his lecture. All she cared about right now was finally getting some sleep.

On her way out of school, Ryoma only stopped long enough to leave her bag in her locker. She would text Sakuno for the assignments, and have her friend deliver it to her house. There was no point in taking it with her, when she wouldn't be working on anything. In fact, she had better do that now. Ryoma sent the text and then boarded the bus. The ride seemed to taken an eternity, each bump jarring her eyelids back open.

She was so, so, so tired. She wanted to sleep for a month.

"Hyotei Gakuen," the bus driver announced.

Ryoma disembarked and passed the school gate. She stopped long enough to check in at the office, but only because she might murder anyone who woke her up and dragged her out for trespassing. Then, pass hanging around her neck, Ryoma followed the directions to Jiro's classroom. She knew he was in 3-A with Atobe. It was only when she reached the actual classroom that Ryoma paused.

Was she really going to do this?

Her hand trembled, and she couldn't make it stop. Yes, apparently she was. Her health was declining at a rapid rate, and she had to do something. This was the only solution that came to mind. Since Jiro's absence was the cause, his presence should fix it.

Throwing open the door, and interrupting yet another teacher's lecture, Ryoma scanned the room's occupants. She ignored the teacher's questions. He didn't matter in the least.

"Finally!" Atobe stood and tossed his brown hair, before pointing theatrically at the desk next to the window in the back row. "Jiro's there, Echizen. I order you to help him sleep."

Instead of scoffing at Atobe, and sniping a comeback, she marched past him and toward the back desk. Ryoma sucked in a harsh breath when she saw Jiro; he looked worse than she did. In fact, he looked like he had lost a fight with Akutsu Jin on one of Akutsu's bad days. If he was unable to sleep without her, though, that made sense. Jiro was used to getting much more sleep than she did.

"Ryoma?" Jiro mumbled in a daze.

Ryoma grabbed the back of Jiro's chair and pulled him farther away from the desk. Then she sat in his lap, folded her arms on his desk, and pillowed her head on them. He stroked her back as if he wasn't quite sure she was really there. Then Jiro's arms enfolded her against his chest, and he buried his face in her hair. His smell and warmth surrounded her, and Ryoma breathed it in. "Jiro."

Jiro nuzzled her neck, and then kissed her cheek. "Bedtime?" he asked.

When she was more awake, they would talk about the kiss. They would talk about their inability to sleep without each other, and work out the logistics. They would discuss how to keep her father from murdering him, and how to convince his mother that Jiro wasn't taken advantage of Ryoma. For now, though, Ryoma was content with a mumbled agreement.

"Bedtime."


End file.
